


Weather the Storm

by Amethyst97Skye



Series: Dragon Age One-Shots [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anger Management, Dragon Age Quest: In Hushed Whispers, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Minor Violence, One Shot, Red Lyrium, Redcliffe, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 22:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12118905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethyst97Skye/pseuds/Amethyst97Skye
Summary: Emotions run deep within all the mortal races, but none so deep as the Tal-Vashoth. That does not mean, however, they are any better at expressing them. Or understanding ones they are unfamiliar with.Warning: Minor depiction of violence.





	Weather the Storm

It was not blue, or green, but something… something in the middle. There was a name for that specific colour, but for the life of him, Kaaras could not remember what it was called.

The next colour he saw was one he definitely knew. It was blue, a dark abyssal blue, like the depths of the ocean. Kaaras could not remember the last time he had put to sea, nor could he remember how he had landed in the middle of nowhere, a place where water defined the laws of nature. It did not taste the least bit salty. It tasted terrible, to be honest. It tasted disgustingly like lyrium.

He could not understand why other mages willing drank the stuff, or why Templars willingly leashed themselves to the Chantry-controlled product. Most had no sense of direction, no balance, no force driving them except the promise of their next high. It was no secret that the Carta employed half the mercenary companies in Thedas, because, in the right hands, distilled lyrium was worth a fortune. Templars were more likely to get their hands on raw veins, and physical consumption of the crystals never ended well.

After he had hacked up half of his meagre dinner – nerves tied his stomach in knots, and he had taken to sucking ice cubes to drown the butterflies – Kaaras found he was kneeling on solid stone. The water did not reach his elbows. When he finally stood, forced to lean on a nearby wall for support, he was rather embarrassed to find the water did not even reach his knees. It barely lapped at his ankles.

His vision swam like storm clouds racing across the sky. There was an overwhelming amount of red, burning and angry - a sunset? A storm riding in with the dawn? - which was in direct opposition to the cool and calm blue water he had, for the briefest of moments, feared he might drown in. His parents had learned to swim in their youth, but Kaaras did not have the opportunity until he neared adulthood. Varric, however, assured him –

“Varric? Varric! Varric, where are you?”

He remembered.

He remembered meeting Alexius in the grand hall of Castle Redcliff. He remembered how Varric charmed his way passed the seneschal. He remembered the fear on Alexius’ face when he introduced –

“Blackwall! Blackwall, answer me!”

He remembered watching Felix reveal his true colours. He remembered Leliana’s agents ambushing the Venatori. He remembered Dorian –

“Dorian! Dorian, where –”

The hand that grabbed him was warm and wet and cold and coated in magic. On instinct, Kaaras span, fending off the branding contact with a sweeping jab of his elbow, knocking the wind out of his would-be attacker, before coiling his thick fingers around their fragile neck. He drew his opposite arm back, winding up a punch that would break their jaw. He could feel callous fingers scrambling for purchase, he could see swirls of silver-grey and chocolate-brown standing out against flashes of bright red, and then he saw nothing but white, felt nothing but cold, empty air. The light died in the blink of an eye.

For an instant, darkness blanketed his vision and entombed his mind. He just needed a moment to get his bearings, to figure out where he was, where his friends were – a weakness he would rectify later – and what he had to do to find them.

Something was prodding him, his back, right above his kidneys, but his head _hurt_. He did not want to wake up, not just yet. Just a few more minutes…

"Hm... Just a few more minutes, pa…"

Someone was talking, their voice heavy and distorted. It was drowned out by a second, louder and stronger than the first. They sounded desperate, lost in the throes of despair, standing not an inch from death –

_Get – up, Kaaras! Get up, son!_

He rose from the water like an aban-ataashi, drawing his body into a low crouch to combat his nausea. He sprung on the first multicoloured blur he saw. Red, white, black and blue. Something snapped, the sound oddly soft and sluggish, but he paid no heed, launching himself at the second blast of colour racing away. He grabbed a limb, most likely a leg, and dragged its owner back into the salt-less, lyrium addled water. One, two, three punches, and a kick to the sternum for good measure.

Kaaras waited, heaving air into his lungs through his nose in long, deep, controlled breaths, just like he had been taught, but the only noise his ears registered was the lazy lapping of water around his shaking legs. His head was pounding, his vision a sea in its own right, and his hands kept convulsing, his muscles spasming. He knew the feeling: storm magic, secondary electrocution, but lost as he was, Kaaras had the sense not to cast lightning when his feet were submerged in water, and that meant –

“Who’s there? Come out and fight!” Silence greeted him like an old friend. “Coward!”

He danced around the bright red lights, veins of red lyrium, he was sure, though his injuries dimmed the song to the screeches of a dying bird. Somehow, he staggered out into something akin to a hallway; the walls were sturdy, made of solid stone, free from lyrium, and Kaaras took a moment to rest. He lent against the mason work and drew his hands to the back of his skull. They came away wet, red, and warm.

Growling under his breath, Kaaras summoned ice to hand, forcing himself to draw upon his own internal sources rather than the convenient pool of tainted water not twenty yards to his left. Once to hand, he held it atop his scalp and steadily heated the frozen salt water. It stung something fierce, but Kaaras gritted his teeth, rode out the wave, and began the gruelling task of healing the fracture, relieving the bruising, and stitching his skin back together.

By the end, it was a wonder he was still standing, but Kaaras refused to rest a moment longer. He could clearly distinguish the individual, mismatched cobblestones that made up the floor, but before he could search Redcliff Castle – he assumed that he was still within the giant fortress, most likely thrown into one of Alexius’ dungeon – he needed a weapon. The thought of venturing back into the water turned his stomach, and Kaaras did not think Alexius would have stowed his possessions in the cell he occupied, but his body was not yet ready to venture far from his wall, and the flight of stairs to his right looked insurmountable.

Face set, mind ready to dash in and conduct a precautionary scan of his surroundings, Kaaras turned and came face-to-face with –

“Dorian!”

“Ka – _oomph_!”

Kaaras swept the man up in an embrace that, for his kin, would be considered gentle, but Kaaras could feel the tension in his muscles, heard how his breath caught in his chest.

"Thank the meraad you’re alright! What happened?” 

He released the mage from his muscular prison, and the first thing he saw was the pallor of the Tevinter’s sun-bronzed skin. The bruises blossoming around his neck came next.

“Kaaras –”

“No… No. No –”

_Right elbow, blow to the ribcage – left hand, choke hold – right hand, clenched fist –_

“Kaaras, listen to me –”

“I didn’t. Dorian, tell me I didn’t – No… No. No!”

He did not speak. He could not even if he tried, and Kaaras found he did not want to hear his petty, pathetic excuses and reassurances. He had been born for war, for battle, for devastation and destruction. Under the Qun, there would be no end of bodies left to burn in the embers of his magic, just like his father. He was a hard, cruel man… but he was always hardest and cruellest on himself.

_I must be cruel, Kaaras. I must stay in control. If I forget, if I become Saarebas –_

“Saarebas… Saarebas –”

“Kaaras, please –”

He slammed a fist into the wall. He felt nothing, not the bones he broke, the blood he spilt chewing through his lip, nothing but the embrace of madness: Asala-taar.

“Saarebas!” he roared, fists pounding on the wall like there was no tomorrow. “ _Bas_ Saarebas!”

“KAARAS!”

The Tal-Vashoth stopped, remaining motionless, shoulders heaving with the effort. He stared at the red speckled wall, refusing to meet Dorian’s eyes.

“I don’t know what inner demons you’re fighting, but right now we need to move! Alexius’ magic sent us forward in time, and we have to find –”

“What… What did you say?” Kaaras was certain he had heard wrong.

“I said,” Dorian snapped, sounded utterly exhausted, “that the portal Alexius opened sent us through time. Given the growth of red lyrium, I think it's safe to say we have been transported _forwards_ instead of _backwards_ , which was, no doubt, his original intent."

"Original intent...?"

"I think he wanted to erase you from existence, but of course –”

“He can do that?”

“I… I  _want_ to say you sound scared, but your voice is leaning more towards ‘hopeful’, and _that_ scares me.”

“You – What I did – I could’ve killed you, Dorian! There’s no coming back from that. The tide erodes everything, given… given time. I just… I didn’t think mine would come so soon.”

“You were swept from one timeline into another in the blink of an eye," Dorian berated, accompanied by several explosive hand gestures. "You’re allowed a little leeway to, as Varric would say, ‘get your shit together’. I’d be _more_ concerned if you came through unfazed!”

He was still staring at the wall, palms flat against the stone, chest heaving, eyes counting the assorted pebbles that had been caught between the slabs over the centuries.

“Did it – were you – the colours?”

“Not so… adversely, I don’t think. You hit your head. Twice. The, ah, second time was my fault. The lyrium didn’t help matters and –”

“No. No, I understand. You were defending yourself. The ice… Fade Step?” Kaaras felt more than saw Dorian nod. “And the lightning bolt? In water?”

“Yes, alright, it wasn’t my brightest idea, but I was –”

“Fighting for your life.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I? You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he grinned.

“I don’t want to get rid of you, Dorian.” There was a poignant honesty underlying Kaaras' voice.

Dorian flustered, floundering for words. “I – I didn’t –”

“I know. And I know what I need – what _we_ need – to do,” he declared, standing tall, standing firm, staring at his blighted grey shadow as if it was a stranger. “But first, I need… I need a favour. Two, actually.”

“I’ll get Cassandra to beat you silly _after_ we’ve escaped this, _eugh_ , castle. Honestly, what do Fereldens have against fashion? A good interior designer can't be _that_ hard to find.”

“Dorian, just…” Kaaras inhaled deeply, counted down slowly from twenty, and turned to him, an offspring of the men that murdered his father. “Let... Let me heal you. Your neck, your ribs –”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much!”

Dorian put on a good show, his frown just snarky enough to inspire camaraderie instead of outright insulting his companion, but his instinctive reaction to cross his arms and twist his head brought an audible and visible wince to bear.

“Please, Dorian. Let me make amends for my mistakes.”

“…Fine," he huffed. "And your second ‘favour’?”

“When I lose it again –”

“Kaaras, this is ridiculous! You –”

“– will kill me.”

Dorian gapped, mouth open, jaw slack. “I… What?” His voice was uncharacteristically small.

Kaaras closed the distance between them slowly, carefully, placing each foot with the precision of a rogue dancing across a minefield.

“I never had your training, Dorian. When I’m not fighting, I – I can’t turn it off. My magic is just… there, always _there_. My father taught me everything I know, and he… It wasn’t enough. For either of us. So, I need you to promise that when I fall, and I _will_ –”

“Enough! No more!” Dorian exclaimed, slapping his hands over his ears, blinking back tears as he turned away.

“Dorian –”

“I’m not listening!” he sang, before breaking out in Orlesian, his lyrics humorous and rather lurid.

“This is serious!”

“And so am I!" he ranted, tearing his hands down. "You, a Qunari –”

“Tal-Vashoth.”

“– mercenary, _and_ a mage, restored order to half of Ferelden, and when everyone else would have left me and the rebel mages to rot with their mangy dogs, you came! You stood up to _my_ mentor, a Tevinter Magister, the man, the–the–the _monster_ that embodies everything you hate and fear! Who cares if you’re a little rough around the edges? No one’s perfect! Well, except for me, but –”

Kaaras scoffed, absentmindedly running fingers layered with ice and magic over his bloody knuckles. There was an odd sort of scowl twisting his lips as if he had forgotten how to smile. Dorian gave him a knowing wink, prompting the Tal-Vashoth to frown questioningly. He rolled his eyes in reply.

“Kaaras… look at me?” Dorian granted him a real smile when he complied, a smile full of grief and gratitude. “This wasn’t your fight. The Breach, the Mark, this war - None of it. But I can honestly say that there is no one I would rather be stranded throughout time with.”

Incapable of speech, swallowing harshly, Kaaras nodded and stared at the staff his friend offered him, an olive branch if he ever saw one. His hand shook, but once he held the haft in his palm, Kaaras felt grounded. He gave it an experimental spin, relieved to see it still channel his mana effectively.

“Dorian –”

“I know. I _am_ wonderful, aren’t I? I could give you a few pointers, you know, starting with –”

“Your neck.”

“Ah! Only if you withdraw your second… um, condition. The brutes we'll undoubtedly run into will need someone to compare my excellence to. Now, do we have a deal?”

“You’re dangerous,” Kaaras growled, a low, primitive sound that sent shivers up and down Dorian’s spine for all the wrong reasons.

“And you love me for it,” he grinned, winking once again.

With a sigh, Kaaras conceded and stowed his staff in his harness. Dorian copied and permitted his companion to approach. He watched and waited, judging the mage’s reaction to his dominating presence. It would take time to wear down the walls he had justifiably built, but Kaaras was prepared to weather the storm. There was, he found, no one he would rather be stranded throughout time with, either. When there was but an inch between them, he knelt down and raise his large hands either side of Dorian’s face.

“This may hurt,” he warned, “but I promise – I won’t touch you.”

For once, Dorian swallowed the smart retort poised on the tip of his tongue, and he watched out of the corner of his eyes as Kaaras’ hands bled with magic every colour of the rainbow. He let the rays engulf his friend, coursing them over crushed capillaries, broken skin and throughout his body, rotating his fingers and lowering his palms to concentrate. His eyes remained aloft, unseeing, frozen on Dorian’s bewilderedly flushed face. Phantom fingers, callous but warm, roamed around the bruises on his neck and danced across his fractured ribs.

When Kaaras rose, Dorian’s cheeks had regained all their colour, and then some. His breath came hard and heavy, and a sheen of sweat had broken out over his forehead. After giving him ample time to step away, or refuse further contact, Kaaras lowered the back of his right hand over Dorian’s brow and trailed a thin flurry of ice over his feverish skin. Dorian leaned into the clinical caress, extending the contact of the Tal-Vashoth’s heated skin on his for several seconds.

“Dorian? You alright?”

“Hm? What? Oh, yes. You… You’re, um, quite the healer.”

“Needs must," he nodded, turning to face the stairs. "Can you tell me about this… time travelling as we walk? The sooner we’re out of here –”

“The better you’ll feel? I’m way ahead of you. What we have to do is find the focus Alexius used to channel his magic, which he will, no doubt, keep on his person.”

“What about Varric and Blackwall? Do… Do you think they –”

“You guess is as good as mine, my friend. You guess is as good as mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Qulat Translations  
> Adaar: A ship-mounted cannon; fire-thrower; weapon.  
> Kaaras: Navigator.  
> Aban-ataashi: Sea-dragon.  
> Meraad: Tide.  
> Asala-taar: Soul-sickness, a condition similar to PTSD.  
> Bas Saarebas: A purposeless "thing" combined with "dangerous thing". A term that refers to non-Qunari mages.  
> Tal-Vashoth: True Grey Ones.


End file.
